Broken Streets
by takethehint
Summary: Two kids, one pampered and polished, another rugged and beaten. Together they help each other to discover a frindship that is eternal and a love that will never die.
1. Chapter 1

The streets of New York were alive. There was something that gave this place a personality, a feeling. I couldn't tell if it was good or bad, it was both. I felt… home here. Ha. Home. A word I seldom had to use. I never usually stayed in one place for long, Mother and Father always looking around for more ideas to invest in.

I smiled. Mother and Father. I could scarce remember their faces anymore. My hand went to my silver locket; maybe one look wouldn't hurt. Quickly, turning away form my driver's gaze, I opened the latch. Those pictures were the only things that never seemed to change. Mother had always beamed back at me, her golden hair gleaming, her blue eyes twinkling happily. Father with his thick, but graying hair and firm smile.

My eyes began to sting, but I wasn't worried. It made me feel better to have the tears come. That meant I still remembered them. As long as I kept them in my yes, tears were almost a comfort.

"Feeling alright Miss Cresent?"

Drat. My driver chose now to notice me. Forcing a smile, I coolly replied, "Of course, just the new air reaching my eyes I suppose." I looked away, trying to seem happy. My driver seemed dissatisfied, so I snapped my locket shut and gazed out the window once more. Perhaps when I reached my Aunt's I would have some solitude.

"'EY WUTS DA BIG IDEA?!" Stupid buncha bums. "I'LL SOAK YA, I'LL SOAK YA!"

"Temper, temper, Race," Blink laughed, "Anyways, what's so special 'bout a stupid hat?"

"It ain't special, I just don't want your grimy mitts touchin' my stuff! Now give it!"

"'Ey, toss it 'ere Blink!" Mush caught the hat in a jump "C'mon Race, jump for it!"

What I wouldn't give for a bat right now. I broke into a full sprint at Mush, grabbing a rust encrusted pipe from the street, I cracked the barrel of fish he was standing on in two. Mush's eyes snapped full open, and his eyebrows shot up high. He ended up in a full straddle knee-deep in a mound of smelly fish. I smiled as a dusted off my hat, "Didn't hafta jump, Mush."

His surprise turned quickly into a furious rage, "Why you little sonofa- yea you better run!" I knew better than to mess with Mush when he had a grudge and a pipe. (It was still stuck in the barrel where I had struck it.) I bolted from the market, papes on my shoulder, still smirking at Mush's expression. This could be a good day-- even the headline seemed half-decent. An abandoned mill had caught fire. I cleared my throat and belted the headline.

"RAGING FIRE CLAIMS FACTORY!"

"Good heavens, driver, what was that?" The old driver chuckled at my question.

"Just a newsie miss." I glanced out the carriage window to see a boy about my age waving a newspaper above his head like a flag. He was a ragged boy, wearing an oversized (I suppose it could have been white once) shirt with a plaid vest over it, in dark, dirty pants and worn looking shoes. His hat was bent up with a crease in the middle, giving it the appearance of an upside down "v." I caught his gaze for a minute before we drove out of sight.

Strange city, a boy my age working in the streets. I had never seen anything like it. I usually stayed with my grandmother when I wasn't in finishing school. All of the boys around there hadn't worked a day in their lives. After living with my grandmother, being as rich as my parents, I found it hard to believe that people actually worked out there in the streets. There was some kind of charm to it. They actually worked to support themselves, no help form anyone I wondered if I would ever be able to live that way. My plan was to be married and then live life as a quiet housewife. Was there really something more?

"Miss. Cresent, I believe we have arrived at your Aunt's residence.  
"Oh." A soft whisper escaped my lips as I looked up to see an aged baker's shop. It was a dark gray with windows that shined, but frames that were worn and chipped. Several cakes and breads were on display in the show window, and the most wonderful smells lingered around the street. Above it was a modest apartment with black, rotting shutters, and sad, streaked windows. My eyes narrowed, what was it about those windows? The thin streaks down reminded me of tearstains, and I took an impression that the house was weeping, but what was it weeping for? I gazed at those crying panes a little while longer.

"Will you be requiring any assistance with your luggage Miss Cresent?" My driver looked at me as though he didn't think I could carry my suitcase by myself. My temper flared.

"I will be quite fine thank you driver," I said primly. Lifting my large suitcase out of the trunk I immediately regretted my decision. It was heavier than a concrete block, and just as awkward. Too proud to let him see me struggle, I heaved my belongings to the ground and dismissed him with a crisp, "That will be all driver." He seemed to be all too happy to be relived of the burden of carrying my suitcase up the steep staircase I assumed was waiting for me. Sighing heavily, I looked down at my suitcase and gripped it tight with two hands. Focusing all my strength, I lifted it from the tired, worn cobblestone; maybe I should just become a housewife after all! I took three stumbling steps before I finally collapsed, and none too gracefully at that! I had tripped over a lifted stone and stumbled foreword; I then tried to lean backward to steady myself. The suitcase went back with me. In two seconds flat, I was pinned on the ground by my own bag. My eyes widened as I realized that I could not heave it off of me. Breath was escaping my chest; the bright blue sky was fading above me.

"Oh, help."


	2. Chapter 2

Broken streets chapter 2

Broken streets chapter 2

Air. Air is a beautiful thing, and I swallowed as much as I could as my eyes fluttered open to behold my rescuer. Oh, my. Squinting in the brilliant sunlight, my eyes fell upon a boy. He was very…dirty. He was clothed in rugged pants and an oversized shirt. He wore a proud smile, and—oh my lord. He was wearing an eye patch. _Am I dead_, I wondered, _I must be dreaming, I was just rescued by a pirate boy?_ My thoughts were muddled by surprise and confusion. I pinched my arm and, wincing, realized that I, in fact, was not dreaming. In fact, reality was so sharp; it tore through my senses like a blade.

Making my way to Central Park—my main selling spot—I noticed that something was happening near Old Lady Cresent's place. Bumlets and Boots had seen it too and were watching with apparent amusement. I decided to see what was happening, who knows? It could be tomorrow's headline. "Haha, I don't believe it." It was no headline, just Blink trying to get with another broad. A rich one too. I smirked remembering what had happened the last time Blink messed with a rich girl, mayor's daughter too. The sight of him chasing Blink down the street was priceless. If he were still in office, Blink would probably be in the refuge for this one.

"'Ey Boots, ten bits says she slaps 'im"

"I dunno, Race, he ain't doin' too bad with 'dis one."

"Ten bits 'den?"

"You got it."

"Th-thank you," I managed to stutter. I couldn't stop looking at his eye patch. "You s-saved my life."

"Yea I did, didn't I?" A smug smirk spread across his face. "Figure a nice upstandin' gentlemen like myself deserves a little reward."

"Oh, of course…" I quickly grabbed for my purse, the poor boy could probably use the money too. Maybe he could buy some soap… A snort cut my thoughts short and my eyes flashed back to him.

"Miss, I ain't talkin' 'bout money." His smiled widened as he reached for my arm. My eyes widened in fear as I stumbled back, tripping over my suitcase.

"GET AWAY FROM ME YOU DISGUSTING LOW LIFE!" my eyes grew hot with tears of rage. He kept coming towards me and I raced up the front stairs to a cold, locked door. _The bakery is not open._ Pounding on the door with desperate fists, I screamed, "Auntie! Open up! It's me! It's Bernadette!"

"'Ey Burn, I just need a little favor." _That revolting pervert! Why couldn't he just let me be? _I was trying hard to hide my tears.

"I'll-I'll fight you! Do-don't come any closer!" I raised my frail fists and gritted my teeth, trying to look unafraid. Using all my might, I punched him. I fell backwards, dazed my own boldness. Shaking and helpless, I attempted to shield myself from the blows I could already feel were coming. _Of course he would stoop to the level of hitting a lady, what had I been thinking? _The tin garbage bin beside me began to tremble from how badly I was shaking beside it.

I was wrong. New York City was not a good place. It was bad. Bad, awful, grimy, greasy, no-good, low-down bad. I did not belong here.

"'Dat's ten bits, Boots!" I held out my hand smugly, _rich girls always thought they were so tough. Until, that is, they met someone like Blink._

"'Ey, 'dat don't count, she punched 'im!"

"Don't go back on your word, Boots! You don't cough up 'dat ten bits, I'll be the one punchin' you!" My temper had almost taken me over completely when Bumlets interrupted us.

"Uh…'ey boys, Blinks got 'nough brains to know not to soak a rich goil, right?"

I looked over and cursed under my breath, _he's gonna do it, he's gonna hit a rich girl!_ "'C'mon! He touches a goil like 'dat an' we got us a refuge boy!"

"Yea," Boots agreed as he started to run, "We don't got no dough to bail 'im out 'dis time!"

We ran hard down the uneven street and managed to pin Blink to the cobblestone before he could throw the first blow. It took all three of us to hold him down, and the girl remained immobile; staring at us with pure fear and distaste. My jaw tightened as I realized how she must see us. Her eyes examined us like she was looking at stray dogs, unsure if we were even worthy of her acknowledgement. I guess I couldn't blame her. I'd seen the kinda life those stuffed shirts lived down at the track. They were too different, so sheltered that it was as if they were another species entirely.

And so she sat, eyes wide, mouth gaping, shaking so hard I would've thought she'd seen a ghost. My brain began to close around the idea that she was actually afraid of us.

"'Ey, you got a name goil?"

She seemed to falter, as if she didn't know how to respond. "M-my," she stuttered, "My name is Bernadette Cresent." Taken back at her name, I scanned her face, searching for any trace of hostility. She didn't look like a New York girl. Not tough, not strong, and not smart on the street. I squinted hard, and tried to look at her as something other than the spoiled priss she appeared to be. At first, nothing came to mind, but then I realized something. She did have one thing you could find in most girls from New York. A cold, mean feeling of distrust shot from her fridged gaze. I realized then that although she was naïve to these streets, she seemed to have learned one lesson a long time ago. A lesson that all true New Yorkers had learned. Never trust anyone but yourself. I began to look beyond her demeaning glare and realized that maybe her world wasn't as different as it seemed to be.

I looked down at Blink, still struggling to break free of our grasp, then turned to notice Jack heading down the street towards us. A look of concern and slight amusement was painted on his face. "'Ey Cowboy!" My voice echoed across the brilliant sky, "Help us out 'ere!"

Running over to us, Jack squatted down next to me. "What happened?"

"I'll explain later, for now, help Boots 'an Bumlets wit 'dis moron. I'll try to help 'dis goil out." Jack's eyebrows rose slightly, he looked at me with uncertainty. "I got 'dis, just get 'dat creep outa' hea, I think he was tryin' ta get wit onea Ms. Cresent's. You related to Ms. Cresent hea?" I asked, jerking my head in the direction of the bakery.

She looked like she was trying to keep her breathing quiet, she was obviously still recovering from her run-in with Blink, she slowly nodded. "Ms. Cresent goes out for supplies on Tuesdays. I can take you to 'er." She continued to glare at me with that distrust I knew so well. I met her gaze with one of my own; her eyes gave me her words before she said them.

"I-I can m-manage on my own, thank you." She sounded scared and unsure, as much as she tried to conceal it. I let a heavy sigh escape my chest, this wasn't gonna be easy, but I wasn't about to let a girl like this walk the streets of New York alone.

"Look kid, I see it like 'dis, you come wit me an' we find Ms. Cresent, or you go alone and go through 'dis," I gestured to the still struggling Blink, "all ova again." I could tell how much she hated trusting me, but she knew as well as me that she had no choice.

"Very well," she said so low I had to strain to hear her, "I'll go with you."


End file.
